


Let's Be Alone Together (We Could Stay Young Forever)

by sindubu



Category: GOT7, KARA (Band), 룸메이트 | Roommate (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 07:24:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7675345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sindubu/pseuds/sindubu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You didn’t rag on my party, Jackson,” she tells him firmly. “You went to my party, ate all the Doritos, and then asked me to smoke pot with you.”</p><p>The corners of his mouth are twitching. </p><p>“What?” Youngji presses, annoyed.</p><p>“Just,” Jackson covers his mouth to hide his laugh. “Nobody really calls it smoking pot anymore, Youngji-ah.”</p><p>Or, the prompt:  “I wouldn’t have offered you a blunt if I knew you were the RA.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let's Be Alone Together (We Could Stay Young Forever)

**Author's Note:**

> i'm mostly just glad i'm finally getting this out of my wip list. enjoy, anyone like me who still ships these two!!

If she had to, Youngji would rate herself a likable RA. Fair, too.

For starters, she always tries to learn everyone’s name on her floor within the first month of the semester. And she doesn’t write up anyone unless she really has to. Case in point, when she’d been the RA for one of the freshmen dorms last year, she looked the other way when Youngjae -- a sweet faced veterinary major -- rescued a small puppy he'd found abandoned on the street and kept it in his room for the remainder of term.

Her residents regard her with open fondness or at the very worst, casual disregard. She gets a roomy single all to herself and a meal plan that has her family back home sighing in relief since she doesn’t need to take out another loan.

Youngji doesn’t really look after her residents so much as make sure they, you know, follow the rules and survive finals with as minimal psychological damage as possible. 

\---

It’s the week before move-ins, which means it’s move-in week for the RAs, and Youngji could probably be going over regulation codes for the umpteenth time. As it is, she ends up sprawled on Hara’s bed, watching the older girl unpack.

“I can’t believe you’re graduating this year,” she mumbles, feeling appropriately petulant about the whole ordeal.

“Two semesters, Youngji-ah,” Hara reminds her amusedly, folding a pair of shorts, “I have two more semesters and then I’m graduating.”

“I’ll miss you,” sighs Youngji, as though she hadn’t heard, “It’s just your time to go, I guess. You’ll live on in our memories.”

“I’m not dying,” Hara snorts. She crawls over to the edge of the bed and combs her fingers through her bangs, like she used to when Youngji was just the shy freshman who cried because Hara remembered her name. Youngji looks up at her with a pout, and Hara fights a smile. “You’ve grown well.” 

“Is that supposed to soothe the pain of abandonment?”

“I mean it.” She rolls her eyes. “You could barely look your own peers in the eyes when you first came here, much less anyone else. Now look at you.” Hara’s eyes glitter. “I hear Hakyeon oppa is still afraid of you.”

“Good,” Youngji grumbles. “He and Eunji unnie are on my list.”

Hara laughs. “See? You’ll be just fine without me. You’re graduating yourself next year, aren’t you?” She nudges the younger girl, coaxing her into easing up. “There isn’t much you haven’t seen already.”

Youngji nods. She’s probably right, after all.

\---

It’s her first floor activity of the semester, which means Youngji is frantically advertising to every resident she sees stumbling out of their rooms before they’re late to their morning class. She has flyers -- colored ones, because they’ve finally fixed the old, wheezing printer in the library -- decorated with cute little chibi characters she’d conned Seulgi, the graphic design major she’d met last year, into drawing for her.

She gives copies -- multiple ones, you know, just in case they’d want to hand them out to their friends! -- with a vengeance, determined to have a high turnout by Friday’s mixer. It’s not just because her resident director, Gyuri, will be dropping by to check in. 

Okay, it’s a little because of that (Gyuri is _terrifying,_ no matter what Hara tries to say otherwise), but also because it’s Youngji’s second year as RA. The mistakes she’d made looking over the freshman dorm last year (like believing _noona, I’ve lost my key card again, can you let me in? What are you wearing, by the way?_ ) she won’t make this year, and her floor is comprised of all juniors, like her. 

RA life can be pretty lonely, Youngji knows. No one wants to be your friend because they’d get in trouble, and you can hardly be anyone’s friend because you’d get in trouble. Suffice to say, the RA team is pretty tight, but Youngji’s determined to make friends to make conversation with that doesn’t revolve around this updated policy or that one troublemaker. 

By the time Friday night arrives, Youngji’s balancing a stack of pizzas criminally high (resident assistant tip #13: always overestimate your budget) and waving excitedly at the early birds that slowly trickle their way into the common room.

“I accept payment in leftovers,” Seulgi comments idly, staring at a few take-out boxes of chicken as Youngji sets them down on the counter. “I know I helped out of the goodness of my heart, but I accept gratitude in leftovers.”

Youngji rolls her eyes before giving the girl a look. “I thought you said you had a family emergency and couldn’t make it tonight,” she accuses.

“My uncle had an unexpected and immediate recovery,” answers Seulgi with a firm nod. She’s too slow to avert her eyes, however, when a girl with blue tipped hair walks in and zeroes in on the karaoke set up by the TV. 

“Ah,” Youngji starts slyly, “You know Wendy-sshi.”

Seulgi clears her throat, the tips of her ears going red. “She’s an animation major,” she reaches for a can of soda to busy her hands with, “She’s in one of my classes. American transfer, I hear.”

“That’s right,” nods Youngji, “She’d opted out of being put in the international dorm. Her Korean’s pretty good.” She pauses. “She lives on my floor. She asked if there were any baking restrictions in the common room.”

“So, how many floor activities do you host?” Seulgi coughs, and Youngji laughs as she walks away. Too cute, she thinks. 

She says hi to a few of her residents from last year who had decided to come by and show support, and learns the names of a good handful of people living on her floor this year. 

If she name drops Seulgi to Wendy when the girl asks who drew all of the cute posters hanging off the walls, no one has to know. Seulgi might even save her some food to take back to her room herself if they hit it off.

Someone inevitably spills something and there’s a whoop and a _party foul!_ from someone who apparently still lives in 2009, and someone takes her iPod off the dock and starts playing more hip hop than pop, but they’re small incidents. Youngji decides to take a step back and look around -- she’s been flitting in and out of groups the whole night, making sure everyone was having a good time -- and it looks.... like a success.

“Whoa, sorry, it’s kind of cramped in here,” a boy pushes into her, stopping short when he gets a good look at her face. His friends crash into him from behind and there’s a good half-minute he takes to shoo them away, shoving them with a _yah, I’ll catch up, okay?_

He turns back to Youngji with an apologetic grin. “Sorry,” he offers, and then a, “Hi.”

“Hi,” Youngji replies back hesitantly. She doesn’t normally talk to boys in snapbacks stamped with OBEY in bold lettering. But he’s here, at her floor mixer, and she should be welcoming. “Just get here?”

The boy snorts. “Just leaving, more like,” he tells her with a lopsided grin, the kind Youngji doesn’t like but the kind her mother would goad her to get to know and _live a little, get in some trouble, but not too much._ Youngji’s mom is kind of weird.

He eyes her with interest. “Do you wanna get out of here?”

“Excuse me?” Boys only say stuff like that in the movies, she’s sure, but here this guy is, all his parachute pants and long jersey glory. She narrows her eyes.

“Not, like! Not like that,” he hurries to explain. “I’m just going out for a quick -- ” He mimes holding something between his fingers and letting out a puff of air.

Youngji’s pretty sure her eyebrows have now reached her hairline. He catches her expression and falters.

“Not 420 friendly, I guess?” He nods and sighs a little in defeat. “I can respect that. I should probably cut back myself, I’m starting preseason soon…”

“Yah,” Youngji cuts in, unable to take it any longer, “Just who do you think you are?”

“Uh,” the boy rubs at his cheek, laughing uneasily. “Listen, you’re totally killing the angry look right now, but being on the receiving end is kind of -- ”

His reply is cut off by Youngjae tackling him into a side hug. “Jackson hyung!” he shouts, too loud considering how close they are, but it’s Youngjae, so it makes sense. He catches sight of Youngji and beams. 

“Noona, this is my hyung. He lives on your floor!” Youngjae steps back and beams. “He didn’t want to come to your mixer, but when I heard you were his RA, I told him he had to.” 

“Oh, shit,” Jackson murmurs.

She puts him on her list. It’s not a good one.

\---

“Hey! Hey! Youngji-ah!”

“What’s that buzzing noise around my ears?” Youngji wonders out loud, walking a little faster to her chemistry lecture because she’s late and because of the obvious, really.

Jackson skids to a halt in front of her, nearly tripping over his own legs. She snorts.

“Youngji,” he says.

“Jackson,” she answers flatly.

He grins a little. “Hi.” 

Youngji wonders if it works on anyone else. “Hi,” she tries to push past him, but he intercepts her and blocks her off quickly. “Can I help you?”

“Actually.” He flips his snapback backwards, like it’s supposed to make him seem cool, but all it really does is get the sun in his eyes and make him squint. It’s not the most flattering expression.

“I felt bad about, you know. Ragging on your party.”

“You didn’t rag on my party, Jackson,” she tells him firmly. “You went to my party, ate all the Doritos, and then asked me to smoke pot with you.”

The corners of his mouth are twitching. 

“What?” Youngji presses, annoyed.

“Just,” Jackson covers his mouth to hide his laugh. “Nobody really calls it _smoking pot_ anymore, Youngji-ah.”

“Wang Jackson!”

“I’m sorry! Okay?” Jackson flaps his arms around wildly, as though he has the decency to be upset at her. “That’s what I was getting at. It was a bad first impression.” He pauses. “Let me make it up to you.”

That stops her, because despite her reservations, he looks -- earnest. He has an open face, Youngji notices, the kind that doesn’t know how to hide. Youngji thinks she can count on one hand how many faces she’s seen like that. She considers it -- him -- for a second.

“Bye, Wang Jackson.”

“Yah! Youngji!”

\---

It only gets worse over the semester.

Among the list of offenses:

Water gun fights, carefully placed chocolate pudding in the showers (Youngjae actually slips when he sees it and he _COULD HAVE SERIOUSLY HURT HIMSELF, WANG JACKSON_ ), burning a frozen burrito in the common room and setting the fire alarm off at two in the morning -- just to name a few. Jackson is like a perpetually trouble-making puppy, always getting into mischief and leaving her to clean up his messes no matter how many times she writes him up.

Youngji is seriously starting to wonder who she upset in a past life. She gives serious thought about going to temple to make amends.

\---

She calls her sister to complain, of course, and then her mother because her sister sighs and hands the phone over to her with a _Youngji-ah has a crush on a boy, can you deal with it?_ and Youngji loses breath shouting on the other end of the phone for that one.

"I had him last year," Hara tells her when she's doing homework in the other girl's dorm. Youngji looks up from her textbook. "He's a little slow, but sweet.”

"Sweet?" she parrots in disbelief.

"He did always sneak me ice cream from the dining hall, so that might have shaped my opinion," the older girl grins.

Youngji moodily highlights a paragraph. "He likes smaller girls like you, unnie, which makes sense since he's so -- " her marker slides off the edge of the page, nearly staining Hara's bedsheets. " -- _short.”_

Hara shuffles her notecards with a snort. "Like it or not, you're stuck with him for the year. You had the wrong impression of Seungyeon unnie last year too, didn't you?"

"That's because she's close with Gyuri unnie," she whines. 

"Gyuri likes you, too."

"Somehow I doubt -- what do you mean, _too?"_

"Just," Hara reaches for her stash of candy by her desk, the one she fishes out when she's soothing terrified residents suffering from midterm anxiety or pregnancy scares or whatever it is this week. They're cheap therapists this way, and Youngji feels like her latest patient. "Be a little more open to conversation. He probably just wants to get to know you."

She unwraps an orange chew to eat to give her mouth something to do other than ask something stupid, like: _do you really think so?_

\---

If she didn’t know any better, she’d say he was having fun with this. 

Actually, she _does_ know better, which is why she corners him when she’s on her way to her physics class one day.

“Hi noona, bye noona,” Yugyeom breezes by, as Jackson squawks. She _mmms_ a hello but keeps her eyes focused on the other boy. Life is too short and time is too precious to play around with formalities, so she cuts to the chase.

“I’m tired, Jackson,” she levels him with a scrutinizing look, “and I don’t know what your angle is, but I want to let you know in kindergarten when everyone said a boy pulled my pigtails because he liked me, I pushed him off the jungle gym.”

Youngji sighs and backs off. “Do you get what I’m saying?”

Jackson frowns, and says, “You don’t wear pigtails,” because he can’t make this easy.

“That’s not the point,” she huffs at the same time he adds, “I’m sorry.”

He reaches up to rub at the back of his neck. “I’m sorry,” he says again before Youngji can ask him to repeat what he just said; Jackson raises his chin and stares resolutely at her shoulder instead of her face and it happens too fast for her to process: “Come to my fencing competition.”

“What?”

“You went to Youngjae’s play,” he scowls.

“That’s because -- ” and she stops, because she doesn’t need to explain to him. She doesn’t. Let him think what he wants, she decides. “Will you slow down with the crazy pranks if I do?”

“I will even if you don’t,” Jackson looks a little put out, “I’m not a bad guy.” Like she doesn’t know, and even if she didn’t, it’s not like anyone could blame _her._ She’s not going to feel guilty because she has no reason to be, and honestly -- 

“Yah,” he flicks her on the nose. “Stop thinking so much.” He uses his thumb to smooth out the creases on her forehead. “You’re going to get wrinkles like that.”

She means to swat him, but she’s holding her books and it’s hard, and then suddenly Jackson is carrying those, too.

“I’m sorry,” he says, for the third time, “and I’ll tone it down around the dorm and stuff, at least a little. So you can relax. And come to my fencing competition. Or not. It’s your choice.”

Youngji presses her lips together and lets him walk her to class.

“I’ll think about it,” she tells him when they’re outside her lecture hall. Her chest feels a little warm.

\---

Hara hands her half her sandwich.

Youngji rubs at her eyes. They can eat in the library if only because one of the desk aides has a crush on the other girl. She tells the other girl as much through mouthfuls of tomato and lettuce, eating with one hand and scribbling down notes with the other. 

“I need to get these flashcards done by tonight. My exam is Friday and Jackson’s competition is Thursday evening,” she says when Hara asks her what she’s working on. 

She feels her eyes on her as much as she does the silent query -- _Jackson’s competition?_

“You said be more open,” Youngji mumbles, bread stuck to the roof of her mouth. Hara hands her a napkin with knowing grin. 

\---

Her floor is unusually quiet.

Midterms, Youngji thinks, as she walks alone down the empty hall to her single. Her residents are nose deep in anxiety and textbooks, and the ones that weren’t --

“Shouldn’t you be running off to your next party?” she lifts an eyebrow at the boy standing at her door, trying too hard to seem like he’s not lingering. He looks freshly showered and nervous isn’t a word she’d use to describe Jackson, but maybe the equivalent word for it. “Don’t puke in the middle of my hall coming back in, Wang Jackson. Again.”

His ears are as red as her sweater. “I’m actually a little tired. I could use some coffee.”

An invitation, she realizes.

“I saw you in the stands,” Jackson tells her as they walk together. It’s a full moon, and once they’re outside she can see him more clearly than the occasional glances she snuck before they left the dorm. “You didn’t come say hello after, but I saw you.”

“I know it was you,” he carries on, “you’re wearing the same outfit. Don’t say it’s your evil twin.”

“Yah,” Youngji slugs him on the arm, but she’s smiling as she does it, “What kind of person do you think I am to pretend to have an evil twin?”

“Well, I don’t,” Jackson says, meeting her gaze. Their hands brush as they walk. “Know you, I mean.”

Youngji fiddles with the strap of her bag. “I watched,” she admits, “I came to watch you.”

Call it meeting him halfway.

\---

They order from the girl at the cashier and she turns to the barista busying himself with their drinks. "Hi, oppa."

"Oppa?" Jackson's eyebrows raise to his hairline, basically, his head snapping back and forth between them. 

"Awkward," Kang Joon hums, still working.

"He worked at my parents' shop for a little. He dated my sister," Youngji explains, but not for his benefit. Nana is giving her a look, the kind that means nothing good.

"Still awkward," Kang Joon says, and Nana nudges him.

(“Hyung,” Jackson will say as they pick up their drinks to go. They’ve just met. His eyes are serious. “How do you feel about younger women?”

Youngji drags him off before either of them even hear an answer.)

\---

Her hot chocolate is down to its last few sips by the time they reach Jackson’s door and he says, “Well, this is me.”

She laughs. “I know that, Wang Jackson,” she teases, “in case you forgot, I live just down the hall.”

“How could I forget?” he raises his eyebrows. “Did you think those poop emojis drew themselves on your white board?” 

_“Yah!”_

“I’m kidding. That was Mark.” 

Youngji doubts it and shoots him a dubious look, but he just grins. “Thank you,” he says for the first time tonight, something soft in his face that makes her look up at him with wide eyes, “for coming to my competition. And for paying for my muffin.” He holds up the little bag with his half eaten snack from the cafe and shakes it.

“It was either that or the leftover cake pop,” she mumbles, “and cake pops aren’t snacks, they’re a sad excuse when you can just get a whole slice.” Jackson bites his cheek at that, like her opinion on baked goods is funny. They’re of utmost importance.

“Well, thanks for not allowing me to settle.”

“Of course not,” Youngji sighs, then adds, “You’re a sad excuse all on your own.”

His mouth twitches, fighting a smile. “So you’ll come to my next competition?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“So you won’t?” he presses.

“I didn’t say that either.”

“So what are you saying?”

“Nothing, with you putting words in my mouth, idiot.” She gives him her best I’m-Unamused-With-You look, but drops it as soon as seconds pass and he just looks back at her, silent. “What?”

“I’m letting you put words in your mouth.” He flashes her a smile Youngji can only describe as irritating. Her hands feel itchy, like they need to do something. “I’m waiting.” It’s stupid, the way his eyebrows raise just fractionally like he knows but she just thinks, _two can play that game._ Youngji leans in quickly, one hand at the back of his neck (the hair at his nape is really soft, she realizes) and brings her lips to his ear.

“Good night.”

(“You’re committing dormcest.” Hara makes a face over the phone that Youngji can picture perfectly after she walks confidently back to her door, opens the door, and screams into a pillow. All before calling the other girl and giving a condensed -- but detailed -- play by play of the night.

“Unnie!”

“You’re committing dormcest and you don’t even know it,” she sighs, holding a hand over her eyes. “I’m too old for this. Thank God I’m graduating.”)

\---

It’s not a big deal. If anything, her reaction comes from pent up stress from the weeks flying by and finals approaching faster than Youngji’s honestly ready for.

She and Jackson go for coffee sometimes. He comes over while she’s eating breakfast in the cafeteria one day and hands her a small pack of colored pens because he’d remembered they’d used all hers up when she helped him color in a geography project for him the night before it was due. It’s not something.

But it’s not nothing, either. Youngji just doesn’t know what to call it. Are they talking or hanging out? If they are, does that mean there are expectations? What’s the difference between the two anyhow?

“ -- love you, too. I’ll call again soon,” Jackson leans against the wall by the one payphone they have at the very end of their floor. His back is facing her, and Youngji forgets she’s supposed to be helping Wendy back into her room after she’d locked herself out. The girl taps her on the shoulder and she snaps out of it, forcing a smile and unlocking the door with her floor key.

“Youngji?”

She doesn’t break stride after Wendy’s inside, turning on her heel until she reaches her own door and slams it shut. She’s stressed. Finals are in a week.

It’s a big deal.

\---

Avoiding him isn’t easy.

“He’s calling it Dormageddon 2k16. I thought it was funny at first, but I was looking through his browser history and he was looking up prices of live mules. So. Just talk to him, okay?”

She looks up at Mark. It’s the most she’s heard out of him at once, ever.

“No.”

(“Do you want me to make his life miserable?” Hara asks, blowing on her toes to get the nail polish to dry faster before applying another coat. Youngji may or may not have taken to hiding in her dorm when she’s not on RA duty. “I could get Suzy to invite him to her room and accidentally give him the number to her brother’s instead.”

Youngji huffs. “No,” she answers honestly, even if the image gives her a deep sense of satisfaction for a moment. Then it passes and all there’s left is an annoying feeling in her gut, like the wind has been knocked out of her. 

The senior ruffles her hair sympathetically. “Take it from me, boys suck,” she tries, “and besides, did you really want to date someone with that many snapbacks?”

“No,” Youngji replies again. But she would have, maybe. She buries her head in Hara’s pillow. She doesn’t want to think about dating or Jackson or dating Jackson again, ever.)

\---

Her final for her dance class is a recital at the end of term, and as the days draw nearer, it’s easier to lose herself in rehearsals. She’s not the best -- why didn’t she just take yoga for her gym credit, she wonders -- but Seulgi guides her through it and offers to spend as much time practicing with her as she needs until the big night.

She spots Hara in the front row, right by her parents and sister before the music begins. The older girl holds up a fist in a quiet fighting that almost makes her break character and this is what college is about, Youngji thinks, as her classmate slips a hand in hers after they’re finished and the rest of the student dancers fall into a deep bow before they’re ushered off the stage.

Friends she won’t forget for the world, the greatest, most wonderful, amazing --

“I’m going to say hi to Wendy… I think I saw her just… over there... ” Seulgi mutters under her breath after opening the door to their dressing room and making a 180 out of it, blocking Youngji’s vision until she’s safely halfway down the hall. 

Jackson is resting against the lit up vanity, jolting upright as soon as he sees her and it reminds her of when he'd fought to get to know her all those months ago, how he’d all but tripped over his own feet getting to her.

“Why are you mad?” he asks, forthcoming, and Youngji closes the door shut behind her. The other girls are in the room next to hers and she doesn’t want to make a scene, even if a boy is alone with her and this is probably against six different rules. 

She sidesteps him and reaches for a small towel she’d draped over a chair. “Could be I heard you were trying to bring live animals into my dorm,” she says, pauses and then, “Could be you’re a huge jerk, Wang Jackson. Who knows.”

“I wasn’t gonna do it.” A beat. “Okay, maybe, but did you know miniature pigs are really cute?”

“Jackson,” warns Youngji.

“You didn’t invite me.” His voice is low and hurt. “I had to find out from Hara noona.”

 _E tu, unnie,_ she thinks. “You came anyway,” she tells him, a little stiff.

“I wanted to see you. And.” He takes a step toward her and sucks air in through his teeth. “You’re ignoring me.”

“I’m ignoring you,” she confirms.

“Why?” Jackson presses, and he won’t let her off easy, she knows, the way he’s looking at her as she wipes the sweat off her face and neck. Her bangs are sticking to her forehead and she needs a shower. One she’s not going to get until he gets an answer, most likely. “Youngji.”

“I have a life,” says Youngji suddenly, folding the towel into a neat square and setting it aside. “I’m busy, Wang Jackson. I don’t have time for games or weird gray areas between friendship and whatever else and especially not when you’re on the phone with other girls. I’m not -- ”

“Wait,” he cuts her off, more confused than she’s seen him before, outside the time she’d tutored him in Korean. “What other girls on the phone?” Jackson blinks, his expression clearing. 

“Oh my God,” he grins, then looks at her square in the eyes and ruins this whole thing when he says: “Youngji, that was my mom.”

And honestly, she should have known, because Jackson’s told her about his mom before, that she’s not well and he worries about her. He’d wanted to be a commuter to keep an eye on her but she’d insisted he get the full dorm experience while he was in school and _of course_ he’d talk to her regularly to keep in touch while he's away.

Jackson grins at her and she feels her cheeks flare up with heat. “You never said -- ”

“You never _asked,”_ he counters, which, fair enough. “I’m not playing any games, Youngji-ah, and as for weird gray areas.” His boyish grin is gone now, she notices, but he’s stupidly close and she can just tell he’s going to say something dumb like:

"We could date," Jackson says, and Youngji's mouth drops. "Yah," he adds, a beat later, "don't look like that, you're just my RA, it's not like you're a noona or anything and even then I’d still -- "

She claps a hand over his mouth. She’s tired of him speaking over her, if she’s honest.

"I'm going to say yes, Wang Jackson," she tells him, "and you'll pick me up at seven next Friday. You can wear a snapback but if you show up in sweatpants I'll kick you." She uncovers his mouth.

"Okay,” he says, before adding, “but do you wait to kiss on the first date because -- ”

They’ll have to work on letting each other finish their sentences some other time.


End file.
